


Sand and boron

by Sierra Roo (SoySierra)



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Character Study, Drama, Eventual Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-24 04:12:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19715986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoySierra/pseuds/Sierra%20Roo
Summary: Valery Legasov was falling apart in a process that was as inevitable as it was painful.  Boris's job was to dialogue, negotiate, resist. Boris's job was to be strong enough to protect both of them.Valery Legasov and Boris Shcherbina were made of sand and boron.





	1. Professor Legasov

**Author's Note:**

> This is a translation of my fic "Arena y boro" English is not my native language so sorry if you find mistakes. Enjoy!

Sand and boron.

Easy, simple as if he had always known it. As if he had had it in his mind, as clear as water when he arrived at Chernobyl. No calculations, no estimates, no errors ..

_Five tons of sand and boron._

The reports didn´t say everything. Data, facts written on a paper, depurated, twisted to the point of becoming adequate to the requirements of the party.

Sometimes, Boris would like life to be that simple.

*

The room was chaotic. Papers on papers, on the table, on the dressers, on the floor. Every flat surface had been invaded by countless equations, graphs, reports, and measurements. A dense cloud of smoke populated the place like a swamp mist. The professor was not exactly the most orderly human being he had ever met, but that level of chaos surprised even him.

He ventured into the room as best he could, avoiding the mess, trying to step into the clearings where he still managed to see something of the horrible orange carpet that covered the floor.

He had no difficulty finding him. Legasov was sitting in one of the seats, his body leaning forward looking towards the window, which showed a leaden, wet sky. The lit cigarette in one of his hands.

“You should aerate a little.” He said as he passed the scientist to open one of the windows.

“Do you know how I got this position?”

The question took him by surprise. He would have sworn he would not talk to him for a while. He had learned to read his moods as efficiently as he would read any newspaper. That day, the state was: "Trance." He adopted it to think about his physics and his mathematics. And yes, he thought of them as his because that was a land he could not access. A space of abstractions that was as fascinating as it was mysterious.

“I prevented the participation of colleagues in research projects. I used their religious beliefs and skin color against them, to avoid them occupying positions of importance. I convinced myself that I would be better. More productive, more ... appropriate to the requirements of the party.”

“We don´t have time for this.” Boris cut him bluntly. He knew where he wanted to go with that sudden confession and did not like it.

"I can´t find a way to keep the radiation from spreading. I have calculated weights, various materials, construction options. The radiation continues to filter through them all!”

“As I already told you. We don´t have time for this!”

“Boris, I can´t do it! I'm not capable! This is more than I ...”

The forgotten cigarette, the trembling of his body as a subtle reflection of what really happened inside. An implosion that he could hardly contain. Boris hit the table hard. Legasov was startled as if he, and not the table, was who received the blow.

“DON´T YOU DARE! DON´T YOU DARE TO USE MY NAME IF YOU ARE GOING TO DO THIS!”

Anger had come out of his mouth like a dam that opens to let the force of a tide pass. A tide that was a mixture of helplessness, exhaustion, pain and despair. An anger that was not towards the professor, but against the horrible situation in which fate had enveloped them.

"This" Boris had said. Maybe because he could not find the right word. Or maybe, because he had found it but did not dare to say it out loud. Because "this" was equivalent to surrendering. It was equivalent to giving up, to stop fighting, to leave him alone in all that madness.

The thought was intolerable.

“You're going to solve it. You're going to solve it because you're the only one here. You're going to solve it because nobody else can.”

Fury had given way to a cold calm. His words were not promises. They were orders. Perhaps, if Legasov had known him before, he could have read beyond them. He could have seen beyond the party's propaganda. "Duty above all." Certainly, he would have been able to identify the small signs in Boris. The brightness in his eyes, the rigidity of his jaw. Comrade Shcherbina was never disturbed by imposing his will. Orders came from his lips naturally, fluently, like the normal course of things. That's how it should be. He could raise his voice, impose respect with his posture or his gaze. But there was never an emotion that shook him when he demanded something.

Before..

That was before the 15,000 Roentgens.

The true radiation number was repeated over and over again in his mind. The words "Hiroshima," "Bullets," "Poison" and "Death" played in his mind every time he had a moment to think.

Professor Legasov was the only one who had been aware of the danger from the beginning. If he was unable to give a solution they would be lost.

“I'll be here until you solve it.”

He pushed some papers aside and dropped into one of the chairs. He took one of the reports and put it to read. The discussion had ended for him. Legasov observed him unable to decide what to do. Until finally, after a minute, he returned to the place where he usually worked. Boris observed him behind his report.

_That's it, good boy .._

The minutes became hours. Soon, the darkness reigned in the room and they had to turn on the lights. Legasov took notes, erased, re-scored, added numbers with the calculator. Boris watched him from time to time shielded by the report in his hands. When it was late enough, he picked up the phone and ordered dinner for both.

They ate in silence. An insipid, canned food, devoid of flavor and color. Disappointing.

“I will make it better.” He affirmed unnecessarily.

The professor had not said a word about the food. Mechanically chewing each bite. _He is still calculating._ Legasov, somewhat stunned, looked up from the plate.

_I'll make it better_ He reaffirmed _,_ and for a second the phrase seemed to lose its original meaning and acquire another. One larger and comprehensive. He did not know exactly what else he could improve but he would.

Then, for the first time since they had arrived at Pripyat, a hint of a smile showed itself in the features of Valery Legasov.

To be continue..


	2. Valery

His concern for him began as something strictly professional. They simply could not afford to lose the scientist in charge of dealing with the disaster.

Everything changed the day of sand and boron. After a hard night's, Legasov had finally managed to find a solution to calm the fire in the reactor. However, the initial joy was soon marred by the tragedy when both, with a mixture of helplessness and horror, witnessed how one of the helicopters collided with a crane, rushing to the ground.

Legasov's expression immediately after the collision was what made things different. He had approached one of the edges of the building and had looked down with an expression that moved Boris.

That day, the two had a revelation. All the decisions that Legasov made, however thoughtful and elaborate, would always culminate in tragedy.

Boris could not help feeling an infinite sadness for that simple man who would carry the task of involuntarily condemning so many lives.

After that day, "Professor Legasov" began to be "Valery."

*

Valery dissolved at times. He disarmed and reassembled himself in a process that was as inevitable as it was painful. Every decision, every life given to try to contain the disaster, shattered him in a way as brutal as silent.

Valery had not had another crisis of faith like the one that had happened at the beginning of everything. But that did not imply anything. On the contrary, instead of passionate outbursts, Valery kept his doubts and insecurities to himself. Boris had his own problems to deal with but he was not able to be oblivious to this. Valery slipped between his fingers.

Thus began the night walks.

Feeding the dogs that came to welcome them happy, oblivious to their cruel fate, was the way both had to relax.

The night walks were often accompanied by talks ...

Professional talks that soon became personal...

Personal talks that led to know each other. Their relationship, gradually evolving towards an unexpected and natural affection.

When Valery talked with him at night, he lost the fragility acquired during the day. He became more solid, more real. He put himself together again until he had enough composure to face the new day.

Boris thought he knew that simple man. That he could predict his moods, that he could anticipate his emotional breakthroughs.

It would not be the first time he was wrong since they were in Chernobyl.

*

Both were particularly exhausted that day. A few hours earlier they had had to summon the operators of the plant to inform them that they must go into radioactive water to avoid a global catastrophe.

Valery had been strangely silent that night. Boris had felt his gaze on him as they walked the deserted streets of Pripyat but had not made any comment about it. The weight of having condemned three men still hanging over them. Only when he bent to pet the head of one of the dogs, he heard Valery speak again:

“Don't do that!”

The professor had stopped him by taking him by the forearm before he could make contact with the animal.

“They are contaminated! Did you forget it?”

Boris watched him with a neutral expression. No, he hadn´t forgotten. But, for that matter, they were too. Five years. Petting a dog would not make a difference.

“No.” Boris answered him and got rid of the grip. His hand continued its path until it made contact with the dog who waved his tail gratefully.

Valery looked visibly shaken at the sight of his companion. His face paled even more. He opened and closed his mouth without being able to produce any intelligible sound, fighting one of his usual internal wars.

"It doesn´t make sense." He whispered almost breathlessly “You are just giving him hope. He will die anyway.”

As always in his case, Boris was not sure if he was just talking about the dog. Valery ran a hand through his hair in a clear gesture of nervousness.

“He will die. It doesn´t matter what we do. He will die alone and it´ll be cruel ..”

“Valery ..”

“DON´T! He will love you and it will be absurd ..”

“Valery, we're doing very well ..” He had tried to stop the vortex of words before he was dragged by them, but Valery seemed beyond.

“DON´T! ALL THIS IS ABSURD! US..!”

Boris took him by the shoulders, squeezing him hard. A significant look to the left. Valery stopped instantly. Finally, he had noticed the spies of the KGB in one of the corners. He dropped his hands in frustration.

“I apologize. I'm tired. " He excused himself before turning around and quickly leaving in the direction of the hotel. One step behind the other, entangled in his own clumsiness and staggering.

Boris sighed. He gave the last piece of sausage to the dog he had been caressing and set out on the same path as Valery.

*

He entered the hotel room a few minutes after his companion. He did not bother turning on the light. Guided by a small red light at the end of the room, blindly crossed the hall to reach the living. There, he let himself fall where he knew the huge sofa was. He let his body sink into the soft material and for a moment, he enjoyed the feeling of being able to relax his muscles after a hard day.

Beside him, the little red light shimmered, emitting stronger flashes from time to time. Boris closed his eyes, massaged his brow furiously and thought: _Well, let's do this .._

He leaned to the side to light one of the lamps. The light showed at his side Valery's shrunken body. His hands covering his face. The lit cigarette between his fingers.

“Tell me what happens.” He demanded taking the bottle of vodka on the coffee table and pouring a glass. His mouth had been needing alcohol all day.

Valery did not answer. Boris emptied the glass and asked again in the same tone.

“Tell me what happens.”

There was no answer. Valery was again imprisoned by the mutism that surrounded him every time something really went wrong. Boris could not help but be alarmed. That was undoubtedly another emotional breakdown. He placed the glass on the table, focusing all his attention on him.

“It's complicated ...” Valery whispered with a voice that did not seem his.

Boris waited for the other to continue but he said no more. Boris had never been a very patient man. Nothing infuriated him more than the frustration of feeling he could not do anything.

“Well, this is what you do.I remind you that I am also here risking my life in this disaster! If you don´t tell me what happens, I can´t do anything to ...!

Suddenly the silence. The ash falling from the burning cigarette singeing the carpet. The warm light emitted by the floor lamp, blinking at times. The faint crunch of the sofa giving way to the weight of the bodies ...

Valery's mouth.

Valery Legasov´s mouth on his. The thin lips, the smell of tobacco. The cold frame of the square lenses pressing against his cheek.

One second..

Only one second ..

The horror.

The horror in his eyes as soon as he was again aware of himself. Valery moving away, stirring in the place, rehearsing apologies that did not finish leaving his lips crowding and getting lost in his throat, his hand squeezing the cushion of the sofa, taking strength to push his body, to get up, to flee from there ..

Boris cut his course of actions as effectively as he could cut his words. A firm hand on his knee preventing from escape. Valery paralyzed his body, looking at him with an expression that was pure anguish and regret. Closing his eyes, tilting his head back, unable to continue holding his gaze.

No.

Boris had been wrong. All that time. The simple man, who was falling apart, disarmed at the weight of his own decisions..

No. He had always been something else...

Still holding his hand on his leg, stopping him in his place, Boris began to observe him with new eyes. The head tilted back exposing his neck, eyes tightly closed, the trachea rising and falling trying to contain maybe a cry, maybe a scream ..

No.

Valery Legasov was not just a man of sand that slipped between his fingers. He was also a kind of pagan God. A God unconscious of himself and his own power. A savage, ancient and insatiable God who demanded sacrifices to maintain the order of the world.

He had already given him his body and his service but he wanted something more.

_He will love you and it will be absurd .._

The words acquiring a new meaning in his mind. _Is that what you're worried about?_ Boris loosened the grip on Valery's leg, transforming it into a subtle caress. He did not hold him anymore. He could leave if he wanted to, but he could also stay. It was his decision.

Valery opened his eyes, his gaze moving slowly from the hand on his leg to Boris's face.

Boris smiled weakly at him.

They were together in that chaos and he was unable to deny Valery anything.

To be continue...


	3. Valera

He lived on memories. It was the simplest way to describe his life since he was gone. His death had left a notorious but tolerable pain. It had not ripped him open. It had not opened a groove deep enough in his chest to end his existence once and for all.

No.

The death of Valera had been the inevitable consequence of a chain events. Boris had seen it. He had sensed it in his first crisis. Since that first look at the vacuum on sand and boron day, he knew that Valera would end that way. That certainty had managed to make the pain of the news muffle enough to become a wound. A wound that would bleed him slowly into an absurdly prolonged agony.

Boris would have like the news of Valera's death to have been so shocking to leave him dead at that moment.

Life was never so poetic.

*

“What are you doing?”

Valery had stopped halfway to entering his bedroom. It had been a few seconds since both of them had finished clarifying their feelings on the sofa and his leg still tingled with the memory of Boris's hand on him.

“It's late, it's time to rest ..”

“Sleep with me.”

Valery's face was a poem. A nervous glance towards the door.

“ The 12 o'clock shift is over and the next officer always takes half an hour to get to our door. Sleep with me.”

Valery's expression changing from confusion to perplexity, from distrust to hope. Boris holding his gaze for the entire time.

"Okay" he whispered, barely owning himself.

“I'm just ... I'm going to change.”

Boris smiled. Far away was the passionate outburst he had had a few minutes before. The creature in front of him was no longer the voracious being that he had briefly perceived when kissing him. Suddenly, he had become again tiny and shy. Those sharp contrasts did not fail to impress him. Valery was a being full of contradictions.

He was already inside the bed when he saw him enter. He wore flannel pajamas with an absurd quadrille pattern. It was a size larger than it would be appropriate for him, so that the sleeves jutted out a little. Boris raised an eyebrow at the vision but said nothing. Valery had already proven that fashion was not his thing.

Valery was soon at his side. He sat on the bed, took off his slippers, placed the lenses on the table and slid under the blankets in movements too methodical to be natural.

Boris could sense his nervousness radiating through his body but did not know exactly what to do to alleviate it. For some minutes, the two remained staring at the ceiling in an embarrassing silence. None had made any movement to indicate that he was going to sleep, as if waiting expectantly for some movement of the other. Finally Boris, accustomed to take the reins in any situation, decided to speak:

“I don´t know how to do this”

Valery knew that "this" did not refer exclusively to a loving approach between two men but went beyond. It was a specific question about their relationship. How to love each other in the USSR, with the KGB breathing in the back of their neck, with a nuclear disaster at their doorstep..?

How to love each other with the certainty of death so imminent?

“Me neither.”

Valery sighed and suddenly all the questions were too much weight. It was crazy. What they were doing was a complete and risky madness. Not only for themselves, but for ..

“You snore?”

The sudden question brought him out of the avalanche of reality.

“What?”

"I don´t snore." Boris said with a strange pride. "You do it?"

“I'm not sure.” He admitted blushed.

He could not give an answer to that either. He had never had a company in his bed long enough to hear him snore. At his age, that idea was as incredible as it was depressing.

“Well, we'll see then.” Boris sentenced. Then, he reached out to turn off the lamp on the bedside table and set the pillows to sleep. He was exhausted. His movements brought him close to the other so that certain areas of his body, such as his legs and torso, came in contact with Valery's body. Boris searched his face before closing his eyes. _Is this okay?_ A tiny nod _Yes._

The next morning Valery carried a disconcerting smile that accompanied him as they ate breakfast.

“What?”

Valery did not respond immediately and that did nothing but increase his intrigue. His partner lacked a jocular personality so the event was strange in itself. Only when the nearby officers left the table did the other clarify his doubt.

“Yes, you snore”

*

That memory earned him to get out of bed, and have breakfast. It was an inconsequential but happy memory. Innocent, maybe. Valera's smile was still sharp in his mind.

His mouth, eternally curved downwards, when raising the corner of his lips, resulted in a difficult smile. It was a strange grimace, as if the expression apologized for existing. Boris had noticed that. As he had also noticed other details. His freckles, for example. His body was covered entirely by them ..

Yes, that was fine ..

That memory would be strong enough to help him get out and face the parody of work he continued to do. Because yes, he continued to exercise his functions as a man of the party. But after Valera's speech, he could no longer approach anything that had to do with Chernobyl. Paradoxically that had been a relief. He preferred it that way. He did not like those memories. He preferred to believe that his relationship with Valera had passed in a universe parallel to the tragedy.

*

They argued. Without as much animosity as before, without wanting to destroy each other. But they did it. Sometimes more than once in the day. They raised their voices, they offended each other. There were always slamming doors, nervous looks from the officers.

Valery would never be an efficient member for the party. His emotions flowed through him. Too risky, too visible. His knowledge and innocence were the only things that preserved him from ending up in the hands of the KGB.

It didn´t matter.

That was his job. Protect him from himself, protect their work in Chernobyl. Boris's job was to be strong enough to protect both of them. That Valery understood it...that was another matter.

He had entered the room with the intention of continuing to discuss Valery´s latest report. He was tired of always repeating the same thing. Valery did not understand that the words "madness," "urgent evacuation" and "imminent danger" could not be written in a report. No one would take him seriously in those terms. He did not understand the bureaucratic limits, the traps, the chains of command ..

Valery was on him as soon as he closed the door, but it was not fists or reproaches that came to meet him but Valery's mouth, Valery's hands, Valery's body rushing over him. A mixture of despair and awkwardness guiding movements that, in the absence of practice, had become almost instinctive in him.

Until then, Boris hadn´t had any idea how much he needed that with him. That their bodies and not their words could be understood.

That day, the two created something unique. In their relationship they found a space to cope with something that, according to Valery's words, had never happened in the history of mankind. A space so fragile and delicate that was sustained with the strength of their courage, their hopes and their wills. A space of both ..

That day, Boris could verify that Valery's entire body was covered in tiny freckles...

That day, Valery became Valera ...

That day, Boris discovered “how to do this” ...

That day, they began to say goodbye ..

*

Boris entered the government building with the memory of Valera's warmth still live in his memory.

He would die. Of course he would. The depression would join forces with the radiation and both would be responsible for taking him to the grave. He had no doubts about that.

He just wish it was faster.

End


End file.
